Stay Forever Mine Until We Fall Asleep Tonight
by hopelessromantic0707
Summary: Quinn/Puck one-shot. Takes place after Regionals. What happens when Quinn gets chicken pox?


**Author's Note: I've clearly become addicted to writing **_**Glee **_**fan fiction. I blame it on this monstrously long hiatus. Four months gives my brain too much time to come up with possible scenarios. This is really just a fluff piece, no drama in sight. Also, the POV shifts to Puck in the last section.**

**By the way, I don't own **_**Glee **_**or **_**Lost **_**or Wicked! If I owned **_**Glee**_**, so many things would happen…**

**Title is from "Sky", a wonderful duet by Joshua Radin and Ingrid Michaelson.**

**Enjoy and please review!**

Quinn Fabray and mornings were like oil and water; it was as simple as that. She had known this since her first day of kindergarten. Most little girls jumped out of bed on that momentous morning, eager to put on new outfits, style their hair and take their first ride on a real school bus. Not Quinn. Her mother had held her Easy-Bake Oven hostage, threatening to give it to Goodwill, for a good forty-five minutes before Quinn had moved at all.

This morning (a Monday) was no different than any other. Quinn pulled up to the curb in front of Springdale Childcare Center and cut the engine of her used lime-green Volkswagen Beetle (a birthday gift from Rachel and her dads).

Grace started to fuss because her latest favorite song- Vanessa Carlton's "Nolita Fairytale"- had stopped in the middle of the second verse.

"Chill, Gracie," Quinn laughed, unbuckling the belt around the baby's car seat and reaching into the back to grab her stuff. "You won't need 'a Nolita flat on rent-control' anytime soon."

****

Miraculously, Quinn was able to get Grace into the infant daycare room by 7:02, only two minutes late.

"See you later, baby," she said, pecking Grace on the cheek quickly before sprinting down the hallway toward her car. School started at 7:20, so she had about fifteen minutes to make her way across town.

As she neared the doorway of the building, Quinn noticed a little girl staring out the window.

The girl was probably about three; her dark hair was pulled into two neat braids on either side of her head, there was a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and the expression on her face was so forlorn that it made Quinn's heart ache. Not only was this poor little girl sad and lost; she looked almost exactly as Quinn pictured Grace would look in about two and a half years.

"Sweetie, where are you supposed to be?" Quinn questioned gently, kneeling in front of her.

The little girl looked at Quinn for a few seconds before shrugging her shoulders and sighing dramatically.

Quinn laughed, getting to her feet and extending her hand.

"My name's Lea," the girl said confidently, sliding her hand into Quinn's.

"Nice to meet you, Lea," Quinn said, leading her in the direction of the main office. "I'm Quinn."

During the five minutes it took to reach their destination, Quinn was regaled with a seemingly endless stream of information about Lea's life-she had a border collie named Oreo, her favorite food was macaroni and cheese (not the kind with the crumbs on top), and she could remember the plot of almost every episode of _Hannah Montana _and _Wizards of Waverly Place _that had aired to date.

"…Mommy says that TV can rot your brain but I know that's not true," Lea finished, shaking her head vigorously to punctuate her point as Quinn held the office door open and ushered her inside.

Quinn explained the situation to the secretary sitting at the front desk. She was extremely helpful, finding Lea's room, calling the woman in charge, and offering to wait with her so Quinn could leave.

As Quinn got into her car and checked the time, she realized that school had started five minutes before. She had Spanish with Mr. Schue first period, though, and he always understood when she was late.

****

Thursday morning Quinn woke with a start. Something was off.

It took her muddled brain a few seconds to remember that, since school had ended on Tuesday, Puck had offered to get Grace ready and take her to daycare that day so Quinn could have a little bit of a break.

Grace was only going to daycare for a few hours a week during the summer. Most of the time, Puck and Quinn would be able to cover for each other if one of them needed to go to an appointment or wanted a night out. Thursdays were the only kink in that plan.

Mr. Schue had decided that winning Regionals (with a mash-up of "Don't Stop Believin'" and "Season of Love" by Shiny Toy Guns) didn't give them a free pass for Nationals in the fall. He had instituted a Glee practice from noon to three on Thursdays through the end of the summer.

Quinn rolled over and opened her eyes but the haze in her head remained. Swinging her legs over the edge of her bed, she stood and stretched. Despite the fact that it was mid-June, she was freezing.

Walking over to her closet, she pulled out a tank top, jeans and her favorite ratty Ohio State sweatshirt. By the time she finished dressing and brushing her teeth, she was sweating.

"This is so not ideal," she muttered to herself as she walked sluggishly down the stairs.

Grabbing a piece of leftover lasagna out of the refrigerator, Quinn heated it up in the microwave and took it into the living room, along with the latest issue of _People_, to wait for Puck.

Quinn was going to ride to Glee practice with Rachel for the majority of the summer because it was more convenient but she had a lunch date with Finn today.

****

The next thing Quinn was aware of was the sound of the doorbell. Startled, she tried to regain her bearings and realized she must have fallen asleep. Her uneaten lasagna was sitting on the coffee table, now cold, and the magazine had dropped to the floor beside the couch.

Quinn heaved herself off the couch with an enormous effort and went to answer the door.

Puck stood on the porch, concern etched in his features.

"You ok?" he asked. "I was honking for a good five minutes before I decided to get off my ass and ring the bell."

"Yeah, I'm fine. I feel asleep," she answered sheepishly, grabbing her bag off the hook next to the door (the Berrys were very organized) before stepping outside and locking the door behind her.

"You sure? You don't look so hot," he persisted, getting into his truck.

As Quinn climbed in the passenger's side, she quickly changed the subject.

"How was Grace this morning?" she asked.

"She was great. She always is," Puck said, smiling as he thought of his daughter. "Oh, that Clark lady wanted me to tell you something…about that girl you helped the other day…"

"Lea?" Quinn asked, cutting him off.

"I guess," Puck said. "I didn't ask for a name. Anyway, she has chicken pox."

_Oh, crap, _Quinn thought to herself as Puck pulled to a stop in the McKinley High parking lot.

****

"Ok, guys, I know we've already done a song from _Wicked_ but this one has a bit of a different feel to it," Mr. Schuester said, handing out the sheet music.

Quinn was having a hard time concentrating on what was going on around her. Her eyelids were heavy and she kept closing them every five minutes or so, then shooting awake as someone raised his or her voice. It didn't help that she was shivering so hard her teeth were chattering a little and her entire body had started to itch.

She caught fragments of what Mr. Schue said next, "…'What is this Feeling?'…duet…girls…"

_Don't call my name, don't call my name, please don't call my name, _Quinn chanted silently to herself.

"Tina and Quinn!" Mr. Schuester ended enthusiastically and everyone clapped.

Surprisingly, Rachel didn't look the least bit perturbed as Tina made her way to the front of the room; she and Finn were deeply engrossed in a conversation about the validity of _American_ _Idol_ as an unbiased singing competition.

As Quinn stood, the world began to spin. She took a couple deep breaths and, after a few seconds, her equilibrium returned to normal.

She placed herself opposite Tina's position and spoke.

"Dearest, darlingest, Momsie and Popsicle…"

As she waited for Tina to say her line, Quinn fidgeted, trying to avoid itching anything and concentrate on singing.

"Quinn, are you ok?" Tina questioned. "It looks like you have hives or something."

Mr. Schuester came over and put a hand on her forehead. His hand felt cold against her flushed skin.

"Quinn, did you ever have chicken pox as a kid?" he asked gently.

She shook her head.

"Well, I'm not a doctor but I'm pretty sure that's what you have," he said. "Okay, guys, practice is over for today."

As Quinn turned to collect her things, she found Puck standing behind her, her bag in his hand, his over his shoulder.

"Come on," he said, taking her elbow and leading her toward the exit. "Let's get you to the doctor."

****

Three hours later, Quinn was asleep in the front seat of Puck's truck, her head leaning against the window, a curtain of hair falling over her face. She was exhausted.

They had spent an hour at a doctor's office just to be told that she did, indeed, have chicken pox. Then Puck had driven to Walgreens to pick up her antibiotics, Benadryl, calamine lotion and a pink Snuggie (which looked absolutely ridiculous, but it kept her warm).

Pulling up outside the Berrys house, Puck was about to get out of the car when Quinn stirred.

"Where are we?" she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.

"At Rachel's," Puck answered. "I'm just going to grab some of your stuff for the next couple of days."

"We forgot Grace," Quinn shrieked, suddenly wide awake.

"Rachel picked Grace up hours ago," Puck soothed, moving Quinn's hair out of her face. "She's going to watch her while you're sick because the doctor said to try our best not to infect her. Go back to sleep, babe. I'll be right back."

Within two minutes of Puck closing the car door, Quinn's eyes were shutting again.

****

"Quinn? We're here."

"Quinn?"

Quinn knew somewhere within the recesses of her brain that Puck was calling her name, trying to wake her. The majority of her senses wanted to remain asleep, though, and they won out.

She heard his door open and shut with a click. Following this, everything was silent for a while.

Then her door opened. Puck reached across her sleeping form, unbuckled her seatbelt and carefully slid her body into his arms. Her head was resting on his chest, a few inches below his chin. His arms tightened around her and she unconsciously moved into him as he carried her into his house.

He laid her carefully on the couch, covered her with a quilt and kissed her lightly on the forehead before turning off the living room light and making his way upstairs.

****

As Quinn's body shifted into wakefulness, she was aware of only one thing: the itch. It felt as though she had a million mosquito bites and had scratched them all to the point where they had to break open in order for the itch to be relieved.

She squirmed around in a vain attempt to find a comfortable position. When she finally gave up, she turned to face the kitchen and jumped out of her skin. Puck was standing in the doorway, trying his best to smother a laugh.

When he saw that he'd been discovered, Puck slowly made his way into the room, holding the plate he was carrying before him as a means of protection.

"I didn't think you'd be too hungry," he said by way of introduction, "but you should eat something."

He set the plate on her knees; on it was a strawberry Toaster Strudel, icing packet laying unopened beside it, and an apple.

"Thanks," she said, a half-smile playing on her lips. The first time she'd had a Toaster Strudel was in second grade, after she and Puck had tried to become entrepreneurs (a Kool-Aid and lemonade stand seems like the greatest business venture ever at the age of seven) and failed miserably. She'd cried because they had only made ten cents. To cheer her up, Puck had given Quinn the strawberry pastry, with an icing smiley face atop it.

Puck leaned forward and placed a hand against Quinn's forehead as she took a bite of her apple. "You're still pretty hot."

Quinn laughed, knowing the double entendre had not escaped him. Puck was a great aficionado of the double entendre.

After she finished the food, Quinn asked, "Do you know where I-"

Puck produced her antibiotics from inside his palm before she could complete the full question.

"Rachel called earlier," Puck said as Quinn swallowed the pills. "She said Gracie was fine. Apparently, Finn played Hungry, Hungry Hippos with her; guess he didn't realize he was pretty much playing against himself." Puck shrugged. Finn was not one to grasp the more elevated concepts in life.

Quinn laughed. "I bet it was driving Rachel crazy."

"Yeah, Berry didn't sound very amused on the phone," Puck supplied.

"Can I use your shower? Quinn asked, rising from the couch.

"Sure," he said. "The bathroom's upstairs, second door on the right."

****

Quinn made the water cold at first because she didn't want to overheat. Attempting to increase the water pressure halfway through the shower resulted in steaming hot water pouring from the nozzle.

She shrieked in surprise as the first droplets of water made contact with her skin. In the next instant, Quinn was shocked to discover that the itch crawling over her skin was significantly reduced. It came back a minute later but an idea had formed in Quinn's mind.

She cranked the water temperature to just below scalding and sighed in relief as the heated spray eased her irritated skin.

****

Quinn stomped downstairs half an hour later, calamine lotion in hand and a scowl clouding her features. Her hair fell in tousled waves around her shoulders because she had scrunch-dried it with a towel and forgone her usual blow-dry. She was dressed in a pair of sweatpants, Ugg boots and a long-sleeved pink thermal.

"Dude, you didn't get shocked by the hairdryer, did you?" Puck asked, taking in her damp hair and annoyed expression. "Those damn outlets are always on the fritz."

"No, I tried to put calamine lotion on my back but it was an epic fail," Quinn whined, cringing as she realized that she sounded like a spoiled five year old. "The only place I succeeded in getting it was my eye."

"Did you try using a mirror?" Puck asked, unable to think of a more appropriate response.

"No, I was trying to get gooey pink crap in my eye," Quinn snarled, sarcasm laced through her words.

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "I'm just really uncomfortable and my entire body is on fire…and…I'm bitchy when I'm sick."

"Not a problem," Puck said. "Bitchy girls are my specialty. I was with Santana for a year."

Quinn's face fell at the mention of the other girl and Puck mentally kicked himself for bringing her up. The two girls had yet to make up; their interactions were characterized by icy civility and badly concealed glares.

"I'll do it," Puck stated, holding out his hand for the lotion bottle Quinn still held.

She hesitated a bit before finally handing it to him and taking a seat. At the moment, the desire for relief was far stronger than her pride.

He looked suspiciously at the bottle, as if staring at it long enough could jog his memory about something, before taking off in the direction of the bathroom.

"Be right back," he called over his shoulder, leaving Quinn, confused and slightly intrigued, on the couch.

****

Ten minutes later, Puck came bounding down the stairs. Quinn had turned on the TV in an effort to distract herself from the constant need to scratch. Puck smiled because, despite the fact that she was engrossed in the _Will & Grace _rerun that was currently playing, Quinn was sliding back and forth against the couch, unconsciously scratching her back.

"Hey," he said, clearing his throat.

Quinn jumped about three feet in the air before she got herself under control, turned toward him and smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry," Quinn started. "I know it's bad to scratch, it's just…" she waved her hand in the air, unable to come up with a coherent explanation.

"You don't have to apologize to me," Puck laughed. "I know how much chicken pox sucks."

"You've had it?"

"When I was five," Puck answered as he tore open the package of cotton balls he'd gotten out of the bathroom and dipped one in the thick pink liquid. "Lift up your shirt."

Quinn complied with his request, sucking in her breath as she felt the first cotton ball make an arc across her back.

****

Quinn was hunched forward on the couch, elbows resting on her knees, eyes intent on the television screen.

"Oh, my God," she squealed, covering her mouth with her hand at the same time so it came out sort of muffled. "It wasn't a flash-forward, it was a flashback? No way!"

"Quinn, why are you still watching this shit?" Puck asked, coming into the living room, an exasperated expression on his face.

"Shh," she commanded, waving a hand in his direction. "Jin wasn't running because Sun went into labor; it was his boss' wife like a year ago."

Puck sighed. Quinn had decided to channel-surf while he finished applying her lotion and had stumbled across a _Lost _marathon on SyFy. That was three hours ago; she hadn't moved off the couch once.

"I think you can pull your shirt down now. The lotion dried an hour and a half ago."

"Uh huh," Quinn said absentmindedly.

He walked over and pulled her shirt down for her since it was clear she wouldn't be doing it anytime soon.

As the show went to a commercial, Quinn turned toward him. "I would have done that eventually, you know."

"Yeah, sure," Puck snorted. "When Jack and Kate get together for good, right?"

Quinn shrugged. "It sucked me in and won't let go."

"Take these while you can still hear me," he said, handing her two Benadryl.

"Way to make me sound like a nutcase."

"If the shoe fits…ow..." Puck was cut off as Quinn punched him, hard, in the shoulder. "Ah, yes, the violent tendencies rear their ugly heads." He smirked.

A muttered "asshole" and a small smile played on Quinn's lips before her attention was recaptured by the television.

****

Puck went to check on Quinn at about 9:30 and found her asleep on the couch, her head squished at an incredibly awkward angle against the arm. She had left the TV on; he walked over and shut it off, shaking his head at the people running around trying to prevent the latest horrible thing to come into their lives from happening. What a stupid show. Earlier in the day, he had caught a glimpse of an episode with a polar bear in it. Polar bears on a deserted island…that shit just did not happen.

Puck heard a whimper from behind him and turned to see Quinn flailing in her sleep, almost flinging herself off the tiny couch and onto the floor. He rushed over and grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her.

At the contact, Quinn screamed and tried to push him away.

"Quinn!" he yelled urgently, shaking her slightly to help wake her.

She looked up at him, startled.

"Nightmare," he explained, brushing her hair out of her face. He frowned as he realized her fever from yesterday had returned. Getting up, he went into the kitchen and got some Tylenol out of the cabinet.

When he came back, Quinn was curled up in an afghan she had pulled off the loveseat next to her with her knees pulled up to her chest. He hadn't seen her look this vulnerable since the day when Finn had discovered her betrayal.

"What were you dreaming about?" he asked conversationally, handing her the pills. "Here, they'll help with your fever."

Quinn swallowed the pills before responding, "If I tell you, you have to swear you won't laugh."

Puck crossed his heart and held up his hand in a gesture of solidarity. "No problem."

"I dreamt I was being dismembered by that stupid ass smoke monster thing in _Lost_," she said haltingly, unsure that he would keep his promise.

The corners of Puck's mouth did twitch a bit but, to his credit, he was able to keep his face serious. "No more_ Lost _for Quinn for a while," he joked, trying to catch her eye.

As he looked down, he saw that Quinn's eyes were drifting shut and her head had fallen onto his shoulder.

He started to make a move to lift her but she murmured, "No. I just want to stay here."

Puck nodded and, wrapping the afghan more tightly around her, watched as Quinn fell asleep in his arms.


End file.
